Guilt
by Edgypoo
Summary: Barnham's journey to Labyrinthia: heartbroken, guilty and lost. (Warning for mentions of suicide)


"Would you rather marry your worst enemy, or marry your mother?"

Zack frowned and laughed loudly, waiting at the station near the kitchen area. A different waiter swept by him, collecting a few dishes and carrying them to a table where a small family sat expectantly. The restaurant stood near the corner of the town centre, light music and warm light streaming from the windows onto the pavement, the sky above dark and clear with few chasing clouds.

"I guess it depends…" He thought for a moment, fingering one of the buttons on his remarkably uncomfortable uniform. His shirt felt tight around his upper arms and chest, having put on a bit of muscle mass since he'd started working a few months ago. He hadn't had a job before, and hadn't been in uniform since his school days, so he was still getting used to the idea of work. "Probably worst enemy."

"Seriously?" His partner arched a brow, dark eyes creasing as she smiled and scrunched up her face in amusement, looking at him with mirth through thick black eyeliner. "My worst enemy is some acne-riddled brat who lives next door. Do you know he asked me if I was pregnant last week? I mean I know I've put on a few pounds, but still!"

"Well, my worst enemy is the damn landlord who makes me go to him to ask to even put up a stupid poster," He said, slicing a lemon for a jug of water. "Totally gorgeous of course, but also a total dick. And don't listen to that kid, yeah?" He added, nudging her arm before she left to end her shift. "You look great."

She blushed and her gaze wandered, eyes darting everywhere except him. "Thanks, Zack."

"Sure thing." He grinned, finally taking a few plates loaded with food and serving an elderly couple in the corner. Him and Rachel had met a few years ago in college, having sat together in pre-calculous and spent the entire lesson mocking the professor's haircut. By the end of the class, they were thick as thieves.

They'd crossed paths again in the library, when he'd seen her across the room 'studying'. She'd had her head bent over a law book, eyes skimming over the words as she read, but he could clearly see the front cover of a paperback fantasy book peeking out from where she'd attempted to conceal it in the hefty tome.

Zack had immediately approached, sitting opposite her at the tiny desk and threatening to snatch the book and expose her for the fraud she was if she wouldn't agree to go out for drinks with him.

Rachel had scowled good-naturedly, then beamed and agreed. When they were done with college, the two were quite a content couple, so when he had been looking for work during their gap year and begged her to help him get a job at the restaurant she worked at, how could she possibly refuse?

"Have you heard about this?" The brunette nudged Zack's arm, shoving her smartphone under his nose. He peered at the screen, furrowing his brow.

"Project Labyrinthia?"

"It's awful, isn't it?" Rachel shook her head, brushing a short lock of hair behind her ear. "My friend sent me the link to it; they're keeping it quiet, obviously y'know. I mean, legally it's kind of a grey area. But still, it's terrible! You can't just take away someone's life like that, even if they give their consent!"

"So long as they know the safe word," He joked, and she swatted his arm.

"Come on, I'm serious!"

"You worry too much; you know that?" Zack smiled softly. "You'd think you were like, forty or something, and what does that make me? Eighty, ninety?"

"Oh quiet, will you? You're not even out of your teens!" She shrugged on her jacket, and he hummed, pulling on his own.

"I swear though, growing up was the worst mistake I ever made."

"Well at least we're done with school! For the time being at least," Rachel added, as he walked out of the door, holding it open for her. "You really wanna go back to middle school where everyone was an asshole and mental illnesses and sexualities were used as insults?"

He made a small sound in agreement, strolling down the street towards his car. She groaned as she slid into the passenger side, adjusting the seat. "I really need to learn to drive. On my salary I'm not going to able to get lessons until I'm too old to drive anyway."

"You want me to teach you?" Zack offered, putting the vehicle in gear and pulling out into the road. She laughed and shook her head.

"You must be kidding! You drive like my Auntie Meryl after she's had a few drinks."

"I thought Meryl was done with drinks." He said absentmindedly, taking a corner too fast and swaying in his seat.

"Yep. But she's moved on to pot now," Rachel chuckled and pulled out a cigarette, before he swatted it out of her hands.

"Not in the car! I don't want people asking questions when my clothes smell like an ashtray." She clicked her tongue and turned on the radio, sighing when _Livin' On A Prayer_ started blaring at full volume.

"Oh come on, this station never plays anything good!"

"Hey, don't take out your craving for nicotine on Bon Jovi. This is great song!"

She sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder, turning down the volume a little and wrapping her hands around his bicep, smiling contentedly. Zack leaned his cheek on her head, one hand on the wheel, the other stroking against her thigh. They sat in silence for the rest of the journey, the only sound the occasional gasp when he swerved and screeched the tires or moved his hand too far up her leg. He stopped outside her house, a small bungalow caked in ivy and greenery.

He kissed her goodbye, squeezing her hand and she didn't go inside until his car had completely disappeared around the corner. Zack didn't like driving in the dark, even with the streetlights and headlamps lighting most of his way, and he was now starting to regret taking such a late shift at the restaurant. He was tired, and bleary, and he wasn't thinking straight.

His phone buzzed and he glanced at it. The road was mostly clear at this time of night, with no turns for a good ten minutes. He felt he could check his phone for a moment at least. The name lit up on the screen, and his shoulders relaxed when he saw who was calling.

"Hey, Rach. Long time time no see?"

She didn't laugh. "You left your jacket at mine. Want me to bring it over?"

"I can come get it tomorrow, thank you."

"Are you at home?"

"Uh, Rachel, I'm driving right now, so…"

She ignored him. "Zack I think we should talk."

He blinked. "Yeah, I suppose. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. No, actually, it's not okay. This really sucks actually. I'm moving away."

"I-I'm sorry?"

"My parents have to go to California for a year. My mum got a job there as a salesperson or something, I don't know. They want me to come with them."

His throat went tight.

Zack coughed. "…So we'll have to make it work long-distance?"

She laughed, though nothing about it was amused. "Long distance? I'll be on the other side of the planet; that's beyond long-distance. You know it wouldn't work."

No no no no no no no...

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? We have to talk about this properly!"

"They just called me a few minutes ago. Look, I have to go now, I'm leaving in a few days, and before you ask, there's no reason to meet up and talk. There's nothing to talk about. I'm sorry."

The line went dead, and Zack stared down at his phone, rocking gently in his seat, eyes wide and confused. She was _leaving_? Why was her family uprooting their lives to go to Cali when their whole lives are in England? Why didn't she wait tell him in person?

She was too scared, he thought. She didn't want to tell me in person because she was too scared to face me, so she told me insincerely.

He still kept his mind trained on those last three words, until they were etched until his memory, until all he knew were those words-

And then his world lurched as he felt something hit the car.

All of a sudden his ears were full of noise, tires screeching as he braked, his own shouts and curses, the phone buzzing over and over again, a throaty, wheezing gasp from someone who wasn't him and then…

Silence.

Zack had stopped at the edge of the road, the tire marks behind him dark as he'd skidded against the tarmac. There was a bike on its side, bent and out of shape, one wheel stuck in the air and still spinning. He was terrified at the thought of looking at the shape beside it, lying rigidly on the ground, but he did, and then immediately regretted it.

The man was older than him, late twenties, early thirties maybe, and his hair was dark and his eyes were blue and he wasn't moving, and there was blood down his face, trickling from his mouth, and his eyes, his eyes just stayed open, staring at nothing, seeing nothing, those eyes, cold, dead eyes-

He spun on his heel and sank to the ground, squeezing his eyes shut, not looking at the man anymore. He threw up, spilling his guts onto the side of the road, shaking uncontrollably, tears streaming down his face, before crawling towards the body, checking desperately for a pulse and finding nothing. He was dead. He was _dead_. He'd killed someone.

Death wasn't anything like in the movies. The man hadn't gone out with a bang or a blaze of glory, dying beautifully and emotionally with tears and loved ones holding his hand. His eyes hadn't closed peacefully, as if he was merely sleeping, and his face wasn't calm or content. The eyes just kept staring, wide with fear, face contorted in shock. Death wasn't scenic or romantic. Death was an ugly, hideous thing.

"Hey!" Someone called, and the sound snapped him into action. Zack bundled himself into the car clumsily as someone in the distance shouted. "Hey, are you alright? You need some help?" He poured the end of an old water bottle onto the grass, clearing the vomit as best he could, hoping the person would just leave when he drove off.

Putting his foot down, he sped away in the car, unable to breathe as he cried to himself when he knew he was out of hearing range. He'd _killed_ someone. It was an accident, but he'd done it. And then he'd run away.

Zack was sure he was nothing more than a murderer.

* * *

 _'_ _The body of a man was discovered at the side of the A24 highway, after being hit by a speeding vehicle and killed on impact. Police investigators have made a statement saying that he had been dead for at least three weeks. There are no leads as of yet, but they are confident that the culprit is found as soon as possible. The man's name was Ewan Edwards, thirty-four years old with a wife and three children, the oldest being ten. His wife delivered the following statement-'_

The radio clicked off, and Zack breathed deeply, sitting at the table heavily and holding a cup of coffee in his hands. His eyes had dark circles beneath them, his chin flecked with stubble after not shaving for days. He scratched his head, sipping his drink and trying to empty his mind.

He'd had children. He had a _wife_. She would have to raise them alone. He took away their father, and because of him, they'd have to grow up without him. To say he felt guilty was an understatement.

Gulping down the last of his coffee, Zack stood and left his flat, jogging down the stairs but slowing when he left the building. He walked down the street and flipped up his hood, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. The sky was grey and cloudy, but not that cold at least. Not a bad day really.

People passed him, talking on their phones, going to jobs, business men in suits, mothers with screaming toddlers and babies, kids walking to school, kids bunking off school–

Zack smirked at the pre-teens as they hid an ally way, running to the arcade as the local school rang the bell. He remembered that. Him and his friends used to run away after lunch, going to the shopping centre or hiding in the bushes during gym. They were all normal people, passing him, bumping into him, some apologising, some not bothering. All normal people.

The crowds cleared out when he passed a large office, getting closer to the edge of town, and by the time he reached the river, there were hardly even any cars. Well that worked in his favour. He stared over the side of the bridge, the water stagnant and dull with few ripples. Shrugging off his jacket and dropping it near the edge of the road, he clambered over the barrier. The only thing keeping him from falling was his hands clinging onto the railings. He inhaled deeply, the smell of salt water and petrol and smoke and all the other things that London always smelt like filling his lungs. The water below suddenly seemed so close, the sounds of traffic so far. The air had turned cold.

A million things rolled through his mind; all his plans, his friends, his parents, his family. And Rachel…

So he shut out all thoughts, closed his eyes, and let go of the railing.

It felt like he was falling forever, the wind rushing through his hair, the cold air harsh against his skin as though he was being punched, and when he finally hit the water, it was even worse, the force of it winding him. He plunged underwater, the pressure shoving him under so he couldn't resurface even if he wanted to. It was cold, so cold, crushing him, turning him numb, until it grew beyond numbness and became pain. A searing, unbearable pain, and he opened his mouth to scream, almost on instinct, and his last ounce of air escaped in bubbles, his lungs filling with dirty water, London going quiet and still, all colour draining from his eyes, the world turning black, as he felt everything start to slowly slip away…

He died.

And then he woke up.

The brightness flooded his vision. He couldn't see anything more than a white blur. It sounded like there was water rushing by his ears. His mouth was dry. His throat hurt. His body ached and felt heavy. He couldn't even breathe. Then, all at once, the room snapped into focus. People were talking about medical procedures and causes of action and blood tests. Air filled his lungs in a rush. He gasped with relief. A light was shone into his eyes and he heard a voice.

"Can you speak? Say something," it said, and he felt breath on his skin. He couldn't speak. His lips were dry. "We pulled you out of the Thames a few hours ago," it kept talking. "Did you jump? Who pushed you?"

"Did I die?" His voice was weak.

"You're not dead." It was a man's voice. Deep, husky. "What's your name?"

"Why didn't I die?"

"well, you _did_ die, but you're back now. Can you tell us your name?"

"Why did you bring me back?"

"Sir, do you know your name?"

"Of course I know my name! Who doesn't know their own name?" He sighed and went to sit up, only to be pushed back down by a surprisingly strong hand. "Where am I?"

"You're in St Andrew's Hospital. Your heart was in a dangerous arrhythmia, which means you had put yourself in a situation that made it beat dangerously fast. We were able to shock it back into a normal beat. Now please, your name."

"It's Zack." Now that he looked around, he could see that he wasn't in his own t-shirt and jeans, but in some paper gown that tied in the back. His hair felt damp and greasy. There was a wire sticking out of his forearm. "I feel sick."

"Then it's a good thing you're here, isn't it?" The man sat beside him. He had a plain face and earnest eyes, nothing too extraordinary. He was in a doctor's uniform, and his name tag said Dr Carter. "Obviously we can't send you home yet. You drowned, and your lungs could just fill back up with water at any moment."

"That's comforting." Zack sniffed and rubbed his eyes. The room was cramped and plain. He was being given morphine, he could see now. The walls were cream. The bed was hard. He still felt sick.

"Also, we don't think it's safe to let you go, lest you hurt yourself again." Zack hummed and tutted, and the doctor raised his eyebrows. "You did throw yourself into a river. We can't let someone who's just attempted suicide to wander out alone."

"I can take him." Zack turned his head at the new voice, before wincing as a headache stabbed at his eyes. There was a man at the door. His hair was grey, and his face aged, but his eyes were bright and vibrant as if he were a man half his age. "I'm his father. I can take him home."

"Excuse me, who let you in? We have no visitors at this hour." The doctor rose. The man smiled. "This patient isn't permitted to have any visitors at all, in fact."

"And yet, I am here. And I am a visitor. Would you allow me to have a moment alone with my son?"

"I'm getting security," The doctor exclaimed, darting out of the room. The man locked the door behind him. Zack chuckled.

"Hey Dad," He coughed and swallowed, still giggling. "Are you back from the dead or something? Or did I die and go to heaven? Although it would be hell in this case, wouldn't it?"

"As you've guessed, I'm not your father." The man sat beside him and Zack scoffed. "My name is Newton Belduke. I want to help you, Zack."

"Help?" He laughed again. "I drowned myself. They'll let me out of here eventually, and once they do, I'll just drown myself again. Though I'll be better at it next time. Finish the job."

"Why?" The man named Newton leaned forward in his chair. "Why do you want to do something like that?"

Zack stared at him, long and hard. "What do you want?"

"Like I said," He took Zack's hand. "I want to help you. And I don't believe that a young man like you would want to that. You have so much potential left in you, so much life left. Why do you want to throw it away?"

Zack closed his eyes. "To be perfectly frank, sir, I don't know who you are and I don't know who sent you. But I'm going to have to ask you to get the hell out of here and stop speaking in riddles. You don't interest me."

"I'm not speaking in riddles. I'm being honest and clear with you." He gave a smile and Zach narrowed his eyes. He didn't like being spoken down to. It seemed to happen a lot with OAPs and baby boomers, who think they're God's gift just because they're not millennials.

"And with that in mind," the man continued, "I don't think you want to die. You jumped off that bridge because you want to be saved from whatever situation you've gotten yourself into. You don't want to die. You want to be helped."

"In here," the doctor was back with a burly looking man in a smart shirt and a badge. He looked scary. Why did all security guards look so scary?

"He can stay." Zach barely managed to croak with enough volume to be heard across the room.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but that's not your decision." The doctor smiled with forced politeness. "If your father wants to return at a reasonable time then we can put all this behind us."

"I just threw myself into the Thames in mid-January." Zack smiled; just saying it out loud sounded so bizarre to him. He could almost laugh. God, he was going nuts. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm a little crazy. If I was going to kill myself, I could. There a window right there I could jump out of because you stupidly put me on the ninth floor. Your friend from security has a nice gun to shoot myself with. I could even wrap this IV cord thingie, whatever you call it, around my throat until I die from self-induced asphyxiation. But I just want to talk to my father." He smiled again. "Please?"

The doctor looked at Zack. He looked and Newton. The security guy left and the doctor sighed. "Ten minutes. Make it quick."

The door shut behind them, and Newton chuckled, clapping his hands. "My, my. That was impressive. Something tells me they had you on the debate team." Zack shrugged. Newton smirked and leaned forward in his chair. "Where were we?"

"I want to be helped?"

"Ah yes, there we are. Would you mind awfully telling me why you jumped off that bridge in the first place?"

"Because I wanted to die," Zack sniffed. He was going to be sick. "I thought that would have been obvious?"

"Well, yes, that would rather be the obvious part," Newton smirked. "But what made you want to die?"

Zack pressed his lips together tightly. He couldn't tell him. He would go to prison; he would not only have to live with this guilt, but live with it inside a cramped, secluded cell.

"…Okay. I wasn't expecting you to answer that anyway." He leaned back in his seat and handed him a card. "If you feel like you need help, I believe I can offer you something that will."

"Labrellum Inc.? As in, Project Labyrinthia?" Zack rolled his eyes. "Call me crazy, but a weird, medieval town where witches are burnt doesn't sound great to me."

"I understand," Newton nodded. "if you're sure." He stood, and started to leave. "If you ever get bored of sitting around an empty room in a lumpy hospital bed, sleep on it. I'll be back next week, should you change your mind." He smiled. "We're very interested in you taking part in the project, Zack."

"You're welcome to stop by, 'Dad', but I won't change my mind. Maybe you could bring me a Get Well gift for my time?"

Newton grinned and shook his head. "Ah, young people have such sharp tongues, don't they? You remind me of my daughter; she's around your age."

"Well she sounds delightful. Close the door on your way out."

He laughed again, before the door closed with a click, and Zacharias looked up from his desk in his shared office.

"Are you ready for dinner?" Eve Belduke smiled warmly, glancing down at his work before the smile turned sour. "Oh, honestly! This isn't even half finished? I told you it had to be done by Thursday!"

"Eve?"

"Am I going to have to make you do this over our meal, Zacharias? How hard can it be to finish a simple report?"

"…Eve?"

"I know you're overworked here, with the paperwork, and the town rebuilding, and working at the bakery, but I'm sure that if you weren't so awful at staying focused on one thing at a time, we wouldn't have a problem here!"

"Eve."

"What?" she growled.

"I am so lucky to have met you here."

Eve faltered, before sighing and shaking her head. "…I'm lucky to have met you too."

He grinned, and she returned it, before grabbing a handful of papers and a pen from her desk. "Right! You can finish this in the restaurant. The reservation is for eight, so that gives us plenty of time to walk down."

He laughed. "I love you so much."

"And I love getting my work done on time." She shoved the papers into his arms and marched out before him. "Espella and Patty are expecting you back by one." Zacharias grabbed his jacket, following after her with a smile fixed on his face.

Every day, he thanked God he had changed his mind.

* * *

 **AN: My sister told me their headcanon. I wrote it down. And then I added some barnlaw because I can. Review my stuff! Thanks for readin'!**


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